My 2nd music video - Joe - is on Youtube!!!!

Last night, my second music video, produced by Lisba Vosloo (an amazing woman, who also produced my first video), was uploaded onto Youtube. It's a song called "Joe", and it features my guitar teacher, duo partner, and mentor, Wayne Bosch, on guitar, and me on vocals. Filmed at our world-famous coffee shop, Truth Cafe, in Dec 2014, it's another proudly South African product. We recorded the audio with Dave Subkleve, at Audiolounge, in July 2012. 

I wrote the song in 2001. Like most of my songs, it arose from an actual life experience. It's a tongue-in-cheek song about seeing an interesting man at a jazz concert, admiring him, and wondering how my life would be if he were in it. :-)  

Because of its playful theme and sound (a humorous blues ballad), it's quite popular. I've often been asked, after performing it live, if he's a real man, and what his phone number is. Haha! 

I'm ecstatic at the release of this video. I'll post the link below - hope it gets you to Youtube. 

Plan B - just go onto www.youtube.com, type my name and surname, Trudy Rushin, and you'll find it. 

Enjoy!  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EiPk0e-VJPg

                         Wayne and I at the filming of the Joe video, in Dec 2014. 

Sad Art

A few weeks ago, I sang at the Cape Cultural Collective’s October event. A special aspect of being part of any of their monthly events is that I get to watch - and sometimes, meet – really interesting artists.

In October, the programme consisted of: drag artist, Manilla Von Teez, poets Tasneem Daniels and Sibulelo Manamatela, dancer Darion Adams, rapper Riyaad Riyo Samang, actor-magician Charles Tertiens, jazz singer Joe Schaffers, poet and artist Zulfa Abrahams, singer-songwriter, Byron Clarke, and me. Needless to say, it blew my mind to be on the same programme as these talented people. I sat in awe, watching them, as they performed their work, each one excellent.

I always leave these evenings inspired, and that night was no exception. One of the people whose story touched me was Zulfa Abrahams. On display in the performance area were some of her paintings, all portraits of women (faces only), and she read an extract from her recently-published poetry compilation, “I Am the Rose”. She commented, when talking to the audience, that people generally regarded her as a bubbly, happy person, but that all her art was sad. I looked at her paintings again, and she was right – all the faces on her canvases had intense expressions. And they were all beautiful.

I started thinking about the songs I like singing, and the songs I write. Many of them are decidedly melancholic. I could easily sing a whole night of bittersweet songs – in fact, I have to plan my performance repertoire carefully, so that I give my audience a wider range. I thought about the dancer, Darion, and how dark some of his dancing had been – powerful, riveting, and dark. Even the poetry that was read had dark, sad themes. I admired the way Zulfa had handled the topic of her sad portraits – unapologetically claiming it for what it was. She inspired me, and gave me the permission I hadn’t given myself, to be truly at peace with my own sad art. 

These are my thoughts on the happy-person-producing-sad-art issue: when we’re growing up, we’re given strong messages as to which emotions are socially acceptable and which are not. Parents and others give positive reinforcement for the brighter emotions, and we grow up learning, through experience, that people like us better when we’re happy. In contrast, what do people instinctively say to a crying child? “Don’t cry.” “Why are you sad?” “Cheer up!” We don’t allow people to be sad – we immediately want to fix it up, sort it out, make it go away. We so desperately want people around us to be happy all the time. This can put immense pressure on us, and cause complications, later on.

I remember when my son was a young child, we’d see him becoming tearful, and we’d ask him what was ‘wrong’. He’d say, “The music’s making me sad.” We realised that classical music, especially orchestral music, moved him to tears. I distinctly remember one day I went to switch the music off – in an attempt to remove the source of his ‘sadness’ – and he asked me not to. I was surprised, but I understood, in that moment, that he was an intensely sensitive child, and that he somehow knew it was perfectly fine to feel what he was feeling, and that the music should in fact continue playing and continue stirring him. It was one of those profound moments in my journey of motherhood. When we keep ourselves attuned, and don’t assume superiority, we can learn from the most unexpected sources. 

Now that he’s a young man, and is working on the different art forms at which he excels (music, art and writing), I can see that his sensitivity is one of his strengths, and always has been.

I remember the late actress, Elizabeth Taylor, saying, in an interview, that she had no problem showing anger (another frowned-upon emotion), in all her relationships, because she believed that the people we love need to know the full extent of who we are. I like that. I think it’s unhealthy to pretend to be happy all the time, because we possess such a wide range of emotions.

In conclusion, I’d like to say that if, for whatever reason, we end up showing our ‘darker’ sides mainly through the art we produce – be it poetry, paintings, sculptures, songs or any other form -  then so be it. Some of the most beautiful work that has been produced, over the centuries, has come from the deeper, darker sides of highly sensitive people.    

               30/10/15 - Old Slave Church Museum, at the Cape Cultural Collective's concert. 

Anniversaries

In the past few days, I’ve had two anniversaries, but not the kind one generally talks about in public, let alone celebrates.  After considering the matter, though, I’ve come to the conclusion that everyone has these kinds of anniversaries. We don’t throw parties for them, and we don’t get cards or gifts. If we’re lucky, we have a few close people who know the significance of the dates.

On 28 October, it was 19 years since my miscarriage. Even though I wasn’t very far into my pregnancy, it was still devastating. I’d had a very stressful year at work, and had decided to leave teaching. In the wake of that decision, even more events took place at work, and I was aware that I was taking strain. However, it was still a huge shock having to deal with the sudden end to my pregnancy. Just the day before, I had excitedly told my dad that I was expecting my second child, and I’ll never forget how thrilled he was. Having to phone him from the hospital, the next day, to tell him I’d had a miscarriage, was very hard for me.  

I finally gained a healthier perspective and found my peace, when I gave birth to my daughter, two years later. Seventeen years later, my daughter is one of my two bright shining stars, and I know, without a doubt, that everything  is exactly as it was meant to be.

The second anniversary was on 1 November - the date my marriage was legally terminated, fourteen years ago. It was the healthiest thing for me, to leave that marriage, and I have no regrets, except that my children did not have the kind of childhood I’d have liked them to have had. Having said as much, I have to add that I am extremely proud of them; they’ve grown into confident, compassionate and insightful young adults, and I know they’re going to live interesting, purpose-driven lives.

I know I’ve grown up, because I can look back at both of these events, and understand that they are merely parts of my journey, parts of my life story. I can’t say I’ll ever forget them, but I can feel myself disentangling from the sadness of the memories, and becoming more philosophical about them.

My concern, these days, is for other women who are going through the same things. I want to reach out and tell them that, in time, they will find peace. It doesn’t happen overnight, but if you focus on nurturing your gifts, and on loving the ones who need your love – and not forgetting to love and be kind to yourself - peace will be your reward. So many people regard the achievement of fame as success, but for me, having achieved inner peace, after years of turmoil, is one of my greatest feelings of success - second only to the joy of watching my children grow into who they’re destined to be.